Have I kept you waiting too long? I’m sorry but, as I am sure you can imagine, I have been a little bit busy since Friday afternoon. But patience is a virtue and if it’s the only virtue you still have, at least it’s something!

As usual I’ve sought out a few photographs to help enliven your minds and, as usual, they aren’t either of me or my girlfriend; you can live with it, I am sure.

Let’s start at the beginning…

I’ve already told you how I got to meet her, although this was not our first meeting it was the first time we were alone and, for me at least, it was a very moving moment. Through her I discovered that my relationship with V was at an end, that she wouldn’t be coming back except, perhaps, for the occasional visit. As some of you have commented, this threw me out of shape a little bit: I’ve never had a relationship break-up; it was a new experience for me, and one which I don’t necessarily want to live through again. Thus my extreme care this time.

I’ve also told you that she has the most beautiful red hair. This is something of an understatement: it isn’t just red, it glistens like gold in the sunlight – and we have had quite a few hours of gorgeous – cold – sunshine over the weekend. It is like a flowing mane, reaching right down to her ass when she wears it loose. Her face is a mass of beautiful, tiny freckles; her eyes are a mixture of brown and gold, flecked and deep; her nose is small and pert; her mouth is round, full-lipped and smiles readily, a smile which reflects in her eyes. She has small breasts – my favorites – and a slim figure with a delightfully round ass just crying out to be stroked.

She is very aware of her beauty, but shy about it, and often hides her features behind this wonderful mane of hair. The first time I saw her, when she came to visit V with a few other friends, I was struck by her beauty; but she hardly seemed to waste a glance on me. We hardly spoke during those short visits and, I must admit, I was so enamoured of V that I didn’t take a great deal of notice of her either; it’s not as if I saw her and added her to a list of wants or anything like that, she was just another friend of a friend.

That day, when she told me V was gone, we spent a little time together talking. She appreciated that I was upset and apologized for her entrance, for the kiss, and for telling me in such a hard manner that everything had changed. She hadn’t realized that V had simply gone without a word: had automatically assumed that I would know; that we had spoken to one another; that enough time had gone by from V leaving me to her standing at my front door, full of expectations.

We agreed that I needed more time more time to think things over; time to come to terms with my new, single life; time to contact V and ask her what was happening, whether we still had a relationship, a future together. She didn’t force matters, didn’t tell me how long she was prepared to wait, showed no signs of impatience at all. Underneath her shyness is a certain forcefulness, self-confidence, a strong will.

In a recent private conversation, a friend of mine told me he cannot stand butch women, and I admitted that I can’t get along with them either. I don’t know whether anyone could really term me a lipstick-lesbian, but I do tend more in this direction than in any other.

Wikipedia notes:

Lipstick lesbian is a slang term used to describe lesbian and bisexual women who exhibit feminine gender attributes, such as wearing make-up (thus, lipstick, wearing dresses or skirts and perhaps having other characteristics associated with feminine women.

whilst I tend not to wear lipstick or other make-up, I guess the ideal does seem to fit. Of course, there is considerably more to it than that, but I am sure you don’t want me quoting Wikipedia or any other source on what is feminine, which clothes fit the term and which brands of make-up are acceptable or not. Either you already know, it isn’t important (my thought) or you can do your own research! Let’s get back to the tale.

We agreed that I needed time to think, time to come to terms with this new phase in my life. We agreed to get to know one another as friends first, see if there was anything there.

From a purely sexual point of view – let’s cut to the chase here – I hardly need any time to consider. If this was a one-night stand – heaven forbid! – I’d be in there like a shot, along with several thousand other people too no doubt, but the fight would be worth it! She turns heads. She has looks and that special flair of moving, of being, which makes people turn and stare, which makes them walk into lampposts or fall down open manholes. She is, again without a shadow of a doubt, every-one’s ideal dream of a nurse.

So we met on Friday after her training shift – she was working the late shift – and went out to eat together: a proper meal in a local restaurant (the one which is closed on a Monday, but is renowned as the best in the area). As you will have read, I was in a complete panic about what to wear, but I needn’t have worried. She wore tight jeans and a loose pullover with her hair tied back in a long, glorious ponytail; completely relaxed, without a care in the world, as if this was a normal, everyday occurrence. Later she told me that she too had a few moments of anguish about what to wear, but decided, as I did, on something simple. It’s true that we are both selling ourselves, but the inner worth counts for considerably more. Anyone can dress themselves up, can adorn their features with make-up and turn themselves into some sort of Hollywood diva or a five-star model but, eventually, the facade has to be dropped and we get to see the real person underneath. Better to have this real person out in the open from the start and avoid disappointment later.

We sat, we ordered, we ate. We talked with one another about almost everything under the sun. We laughed a lot, always important, and shared experiences and insights. The restaurant was full, loud, busy: we heard nothing, we saw nothing but one another. It was nearly midnight when we finally emerged into the cold night air. She called a taxi and we waited in a small park near the restaurant. I told her I wanted to kiss her. She said she wanted me to kiss her because if I didn’t she was going to kiss me.

I know what you all want to know now, but I’m going to call upon your patience once again, before this post gets too long and before she catches me writing it. She has the early shift – nurses work Sundays too – and is due home in a couple of hours (writing the word home is such a pleasure). Next weekend she has free. All I will tell you, for now, is that she is a natural red head, and I am sure you all know exactly how I know that.

Love & Kisses, Viki.

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2 Comments

Breaking up, even when we mouth all of the mantras of how it is best, how it will make us grow, how it was not meant to be, etc. and also when we try not to let it get to us, is difficult and painful. Any rejection from being “the special one” for another hurts us deeply.

Some people, I have heard, learn to put all rejection into its proper place – wherever that is – and not let it get to them. But my experience shows that they only displace the pain and hurt from the experience into/onto other things.

Often I hear people lamenting over loss saying that it gets easier each time we are rejected and that the first rejections of youth are the most painful. Unfortunate as it is, this is not true.

Each rejection cuts into us just like a knife cuts into flesh. The first slices do hurt, but subsequent slices into scarred tissue hurts worse. Likewise, the subsequent rejections in our lives that cut into the scarred tissue of our heartfelt attraction for another (be it the deep romantic love or the superficial lustful love) will still hurt terribly so. And the alternative to it, the alternative to protecting ourselves from the pain – “aloneness”, isolation – is worse. Isolation, even situationally, brings about loneliness, which is just as painful and heart wrenching as the pain of rejection we seek to avoid.

You have the gift of words, capture your feelings without care of sounding pathetic or whiney. Capture the feelings on paper as much as you need to in order to heal and in order to capture the words when you may later need them for a story. You will know when you have written enough. Let yourself say all there is to be said from the pain in the heart.

The sadness will undoubtedly always be there, in one form or another. Yes, it cuts like a knife – not a very sharp one at that – but I suppose, in a way, I was always sure that our relationship wouldn’t last forever: as I’ve mentioned to you, she was a little immature in some ways and too grown up for her years in others. I certainly won’t be forcing it out of my heart, the feelings, but will undoubtedly use the experience I’ve gained at some point in my writings.